For Hope Lovers: Revelation
by Bayanette Winters
Summary: Hope. That's what your sister's psychic said would find you that day. You didn't believe her, but the day was still young... Reader x Hope Estheim.


_Hope…Hope…Hope…  
_ Your psychic's word ran through your brain. Technically, the old, gray-haired woman that wore thousands of (fake) jewels over her hippie outfit was your _sister's_ psychic, but when you'd accompanied her for her weekly reading, the psychic looked at you, eyes glazed over, and yelled: "HOPE! TODAY, YOU WILL FIND THE HOPE YOU NEED ON YOUR DOORSTEP!"  
You shuddered even now at the creepy woman's telling. You weren't even _paying_ the chick, and yet she gave you a free reading without warning.  
In all seriousness, though, she'd kinda freaked you out.  
But you walked on, refusing to let the words repeating in your head interfere with you hard-work attitude. It was a Saturday-by far the busiest day for a minimum-wage waitress. When you got to the shabby diner, you shrugged off your jacket, revealing your adorable baby-blue apron work dress, and hurriedly got to work.  
The tables were fairly normal; most of your usuals were anxiously awaiting the adorable you to give them their order. This included the cute AND the creepy guests you saw nearly every Saturday.  
"Heya, sweet cheeks," said a man whom you knew to be called Maxee. He wrapped an arm around your hips, attempting to bring you down to his lap; this guy was by far the worst customer you had!  
Nonetheless, you stood your ground (literally) and straightened your back. "Can I take your order, sir?"  
"Now, hun, I thought we were on a first name basis already…._" He was either glancing at your nametag or the breast it sat upon-either thought made you gag.  
"Can I take your _order_," you protested again. You had no choice; you had to work to pay the rent.  
"Yeah, I want one tall glass of you, sweet cheeks." You broke character and made an angry huff noise.  
"Seriously? Do we have to go through this every time I come over here? I told you I'm not interested!"  
"Aww, you don't have to pretend to protect yourself from the guys," he replied, gesturing to his chuckling friends. You gave him a very rude gesture with your arms that was equivalent to the meaning it would be with your middle finger and said, "Sorry, I've got other tables to wait on. Lemme know when you want to order something _on the menu_." You shuffled away, heading to your next station. You pulled out your pen and paper, asking, "What can I get you today?"  
The person was silent, and you looked up to see if you were imagining that someone was there. But no, he was. He was staring up at you with these bubbling blue-green eyes shaded over with concern. You fought to raise a brow at the customer, wondering why he seemed so inquisitive. While he just sat there, _staring at you_, you stared back. You couldn't help but admire the man's silver hair, a shimmering waterfall mystically settled over his ears and scalp. How did you get hair like that? Genetics? Or could you dye it that way? You were (your hair color), so you weren't sure if such a dye would work-if one existed.  
"Are you alright, Miss?" You blinked back into reality, stunned by how much his voice soothed your sore, quaking ankles. Strange how just four words did that.  
"Yeah," you answered, not sure how to otherwise respond. Then, you gestured to your nametag. "And my name is _." Since you can't seem to read, you think. But his eyes don't even flicker to your chest area, he just keeps looking into your face.  
"_ is a very nice name," he tells you. You begin to respect this guy; he was polite, formal, and even respectful (he didn't even try to look at your chest; _that_ was a first for any male customer you'd had). You considered asking him for his name, but you knew your boss was around there somewhere, watching. So you continued with a less strained cheery voice, "Can I take your order?"  
The man refocused and glanced at his menu, remembering that it was in his hands.

... ... ...

Finally, your shift was over. You checked out and pulled on your jacket, fearing that the cold would bite at your very revealed legs. Nonetheless, you hurried on your way.  
But…not before Maxee intercepted you, flanked by is ugly-ass lackeys.  
"Heeeyyyy, hun!" He greeted. You didn't try to hide your disgust anymore, letting your face scrunch up as if you smelled something really nasty.  
"Ugh, my shift is over. Come hopelessly flirt another day." You went to step around him, but he blocked you.  
Okay, you were no Mary Sue, but even you weren't positive you could take on 5 plus guys.  
You jerked back as Maxee tried to grab your arm.  
"C'mon, babe! Less go have some fun!"  
"No!" Maxee reached again and you took another step back-right into someone else's chest. Gentle hands held the outer curve of your left shoulder and the muscle just under your right one, holding you away from the men.  
"I believe this lady would like to go home, now," your savior-the sliver man from earlier-told the thugs firmly.  
"Geez, guys, look! Wassup, Mr. Estheim," Maxee muttered.  
"Seriously. Back off," the so-called Mr. Estheim almost hissed. His breath warmed the ear it was closest to, and you found it hard to concentrate on anything else.  
Maxee huffed, but a distinct feature of fear clouded his eyes. He turned and ushered his group out of there. You blinked, watching them go.  
"Hopefully, they won't bother you for quite sometime." You looked up at his words, sad to move your head out of his soothing breathing. But you weren't all too disappointed as you got to look into his beautiful eyes. He smiled kindly, losing his firm tone. "Would you like me to walk you home?"  
You nodded, not wanting you voice to reveal the admiration you had for this Mr. Estheim. He gestured for you to walk, and you forgot that he didn't know where you lived. It comforted you to know that he wasn't a creepy stalker. Nor was he a creepy perv, for no matter how many times you looked over at him, you didn't once see him look anywhere below your face.

... ... ... ...

At your doorstep, you were almost ashamed to let him see your shabby apartment. It was old and broken down; such was the life of a low-paid waitress.  
"Will you be alright?" Mr. Estheim's voice was sincere, purely concerned for your well-being. How'd a girl like you meet a guy like this?  
You barely know him, you realized. Stop trying to make this something it's not.  
"Yeah," you tell him. "Thanks for everything today." _Even your presence at my station_, you hear your inner voice mutter. He nods, moving one foot off of the two-step entrance into your building.  
"You're welcome. Have a good night." You watched his eyes turn away and wondered if they revealed the sadness of leaving that you were now overwhelmed with.  
"Wait," you hurriedly called. He stopped and turned back to you, his feet having barely moved. "What…what's your name?" You'd at least like to know that, even if you were destined to never see him again. He doesn't even smile; it's like this moment is too serious for that.  
"Hope," he tells you softly, almost as though he's revealing to you a deep secret that he'd never shared with another before. He turns and walks.  
_Hope_. Oh dear god, he's the Hope your sister's psychic was talking about! How could that be? You couldn't believe it!  
You run to him, snatching his arm before he could proceed farther from you. You put your hand over the back of his neck and pulled him down to you, your dry, chapped lips pushing on his soft ones. He didn't move, revealing no surprise or fear. He just let you kiss him, focusing on that rather than whatever welled-up in his stomach.  
Now you believed it. The kiss he'd allowed you to bestow upon him shattered all reason, all belief that there was no such mystical force called fate. He was the Hope your heart had been secretly waiting for, in both name and belief.  
You pulled back, noticing how close his hand had been to holding your waist. But he was a true gentleman, trying to respect your privacy as a person.  
"It is nice to meet you, Hope," you say to him. The words you utter in a single, worn-out breath make him smile, and you know that you're in love. No matter what qualities and habits he later reveals to you later, this is the man you were destined to be with.  
But, for a while, you wouldn't tell him that. No. That would come later.

... ... ... ... ... ...

Darlings! This is from my dA page. Someone asked me earlier how to get to it: the link is on my Fanfiction profile. You're more than welcome to check it out. :)


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